Amethyst All Over
by glass-jars
Summary: Tino escapes from Ivan. Prequel to a prequel. Wanted to write about what happened before "The Heat Makes us Crazy," and "Christmas." Tino's about 18 years old in this. Ber's around 20, 21.


There was never any shouting, nor any signs of violence. Nothing he could hear, or see. But the way Tino never said a word when he was with Ivan, the way he stood behind him and did anything asked of him…

The entire household was a little bit… off.

Ivan had a sweet smile, and seemed as if he wouldn't hurt a fly, but something was hiding behind those amethyst eyes of his. Something about the firmness of his grip, and Tino's absolute obedience, didn't sit right with Berwald.

The haunted look in Tino pretty periwinkle eyes screamed that something was wrong.

Something was not quite right in the Braginski household.

He could tell by the way the servants looked, too—scared and timid. They never said a word to Berwald other than the occasional, "Hello Mr. Oxenstierna," or "Goodbye Mr. Oxenstierna." The short one, Raivis (who looked no older than twelve,) sometimes spoke a little more, but never of anything significant. And he was always looking around him, eyes flicking back and forth, as if a monster would pop out and devour him whole. He shook like a leaf constantly.

Berwald worried for all of them. But most of all, he worried for Tino, who was scrawny and wide-eyed and silent. He was young, too. Younger than Berwald by a year or two.

Berwald didn't like it, but he continued to work on the renovation of Ivan's home because A) He could keep an eye on Tino and be certain he was still mostly okay, and B) Ivan paid a lot, and Berwald had a three year old to take care of. He needed a steady income, and daycare used up a lot of his funds. So he stayed on as Ivan Braginski's handyman and carpenter.

It was a crisp day in October. The long gravel driveway in front of the Braginski mansion was paved over with fallen red leaves, which Raivis and Toris were clearing away in the light of the early morning sun. Natalia was pruning the shrubbery.

Berwald walked slowly past them—they waved uncertainly—and went into the massive house. None of the lights were on, but there were so many windows it didn't matter. Berwald made his way up the stairs to the second floor, setting his toolbox by the banister. A door clicked open and he turned. It was Tino, clad in only his underwear and a buttoned shirt that covered his behind.

"'Lo." Berwald nodded at him with a frown, and blushed a little.

Tino flinched, and scampered off without a word. Berwald grimaced. He wasn't sure whether Tino was afraid of him because of Ivan, or if he was afraid of him because of his face. (It seemed as if everyone but Antonio was afraid of him for that reason…) Maybe both. Tino wasn't embarrassed because of his clothing (or lack thereof.) All of the workers in the manor had seen him in various states of pantslessness at one point or another, though he always wore a shirt.

Berwald sighed. It was probably his face that scared Tino off each time. He crouched in front of his toolbox and began to pick out what he'd need to stabilize some areas of the banister until he could replace them.

Tino looked around the room disinterestedly. It had been redecorated again—the windows were covered over with heavy velvet curtains of a color like purple tulips (so dark they were almost black) and the bed sheets were a greyish lavender with roses outlined in black all over in a delicate pattern. The rugs were the same color as Ivan's eyes, but less threatening.

Tino let his eyes drift to Ivan's broad white back, with its skin so scarred and pale but for where it was mottled pink around his neck. Tino frowned. He was afraid of Ivan (terribly afraid,) but even so, it troubled him to see those billionfold tiny scars and ropes of red all over the man's body. No one should have to be abused like that. And it had turned Ivan into the insecure, sadistic, mentally unstable, childlike Colossus that he was. And Tino feared him, but still could not bring himself to hate him.

Tino pressed a dainty fingertip to one long-healed cut, crinkling his eyebrows.

Ivan shifted, looking over his shoulder lazily, catching Tino's eye with a drowsy smile.

Tino half-smiled back. Ivan rolled over without a word and kissed Tino's forehead, and nudged him onto his back, nuzzling his neck. Tino squirmed, but didn't protest. Let his breath hitch in his throat and stared up at the sky-patterned ceiling as Ivan's hands wandered, cold and coarse.

Berwald found himself blushing ruby red, sitting on the stairs as he worked on repairing a hole in the top step. Usually he worked with his headphones clamped securely over his ears, but today he had forgotten, so he could hear most of what went on in the empty, still house. Everything on the second floor. _Everything_. He tried to distract himself with woodwork, but it was difficult. He ended up just covering his ears (pointless) and waiting for the air to grow silent once more, forehead pressed against his knees.

Berwald was sanding down some sharp corners on a banister he'd just replaced. (He did this habitually because he was used to child-proofing his work.) This was probably for the better, considering the amount of alcohol Ivan imbibed on a daily basis. He didn't want to be sued, should Braginski put his eye out on a handrail. Though, admittedly, the ridiculous image of Ivan tripping and hitting his face on a banister made Berwald chuckle darkly, just a little.

It was a sinister sounding chuckle, and Raivis—who was bringing dinner to his master—jumped and ran the rest of the way to Ivan's chambers. Berwald frowned after the young boy and shook his head. Raivis was so skittish. Berwald wondered what he had gone through to make him so nervous. He often looked more afraid than Tino—and everyone else, for that matter.

Compared to the others, Berwald realized, Tino was almost relaxed. (Just not around Berwald.) He was obviously Ivan's current favorite. Who knew for how long, though.

Berwald turned his eyes back to his sandpaper and continued to smooth off potentially dangerous corners, listening to "In the Hall of the Mountain King" loudly, having remembered his headphones that day.

Tino frowned softly, prodding tenderly at a bruise forming on his shoulder. He grimaced. It hurt. He sighed as he stepped into the shower, turning his face to the onslaught of hot water. Sometimes Ivan was too rough… And it was hard to tell, when he hurt people, whether he did it on purpose, or whether he did so accidentally. (There were plenty of examples of both.)

The water felt soothing on Tino's perpetually chilled, sore body. He wished he could live in the shower or a sauna, but sadly, that was not possible. He half-smiled to himself, wistful.

Berwald swung his hammer experimentally, eyeing the spot. Ivan had called him into the bedroom to hang a shelf, and had then gone downstairs for a light snack. Berwald could hear the shower running in the adjacent bathroom. He set the hammer on the bed and went to work measuring and marking out where the shelf would sit.

Tino heard a steady thud from outside the bathroom, as he stood in front of the radiator drying himself off with a soft purple towel. He smiled unconsciously at the sound. Berwald must have finally been hanging the shelf—rather, Ivan must have finally asked him to.

Tino was pulling on his underpants when he heard a solid thunk and a muffled oath. He gasped, "Berwald!" He threw open the bathroom door, forgetting about covering his body—his bruises—in his worry, and rushed into the room. Berwald was sitting on the floor with his legs up, forehead pressed against his knees. He was holding his left hand tightly, shoulders hunched, and there were a few small holes in the wall.

"B- Ber!"

Berwald looked up, scowling in pain—he'd smashed his finger with the hammer and dropped the shelf. He could kick himself! Tino was worrying over such a small thing! "I'm fine. Jes hammered m'self…" He could not make his voice work properly, suddenly. A flush stole across his cheeks. He'd seen Tino half-clothed before but… always in at least a shirt. He felt ashamed now, seeing him in nothing but his briefs. He cleared his throat. Then noticed the splotches of faded color that decorated Tino's porcelain skin all over his shoulders and chest and hips and arms, reddish and greenish and bluish purple blobs all over…

"Ti…" He looked away, standing.

"You're alright, though…?" Tino bit his lip nervously, his eyes full of concern.

Berwald grimace. "'M alright…" He stared at the carpet.

"Oh dear, we seem to have had an accident!"

Berwald's head whipped up. Tino stiffened, eyes suddenly round like a deer in the headlamps of a truck.

Ivan grinned sweetly. He held a cookie in one hand, and it cracked slowly as he lowered his arm, dripping crumbs to the floor. Ivan seemed normal, but something in his face was dark.

"I- Ivan!" Tino realized he was nearly naked with a start, and grabbed a royal purple robe from the floor, pulling it about his shoulders quickly, hiding his mottle skin from the light. He kept his eyes averted. He trembled slightly.

Ivan continued to smile. "What happened?"

"I heard a loud noise, Ivan, and I wasn't really dressed but I was worried and it turns out Mr. Berwald just hit his hand with the hammer and subsequently dropped the shelf, sir!" Tino's voice shook. Berwald looked out the corner of his eye, concerned. Evidently, the young man—you could almost call him a boy—was scared stiff. Berwald glared worriedly.

Ivan let the cookie—all but pulverized now—fall to the floor in a shower of chocolate pieces. He approached Tino very deliberately, brushing the crumbs from his thick leather gloves. He reached out, softly touching his fingertips to Tino's cheek, then lowered his hand. Tino dared to finally meet his eyes, hopeful.

The back of Ivan's hand connected explosively with Tino's jaw, and Tino's head whipped violently to the side. Tears of pain brimmed over in his eyes as he put a hand to his face, sinking to his knees. He bowed his head, and, after a moment's stunned silence, he sobbed.

Berwald forgot how to breathe for several seconds, swallowing tensely. He watched as Ivan turned and opened the bedroom doors to leave. Berwald's hands shook angrily. He wanted to tackle that man to the ground and beat his ass.

The second Ivan was out of the room Berwald was at Tino's side. He pulled Tino's hand gently from his face, and tilted the teenaged boy's chin up to look him in the eye. He wiped the tears from Tino's cheeks and growled, "Y'alright?"

Tino looked, confused, at Berwald's so clearly worried face, swimming though the tears. He could feel the large man's fingers tremble. He licked his lips and more tears came to his eyes as he let himself slide vulnerably into Berwald's strong arms. He cried silently and Berwald rubbed his back. His jaw burned. There was definitely going to be a bruise.

The floor creaked and Berwald looked up to see Ivan returning. He didn't close the door behind him, only stepped in and said, "You should probably leave now, Mr. Oxenstierna," caressing the shiny black riding crop he held firmly in his hand.

Berwald felt the blood drain from his face. He tightened his hold on Tino as the boy whimpered fearfully.

The grin on Ivan's face was absolutely deranged.

"…won't leave." Berwald murmured, pulling Tino onto his lap.

"What?"

"I won't leave." Berwald spoke loudly, his voice heavy and hoarse with fear and anger.

"Well, aren't _we_ heroic?" Ivan stepped slowly closer, pulling the door shut behind him, and locking it with a sinister click.

Berwald felt sick to his stomach. From the minute the first blow fell he had put up a fight, but Ivan had a lower center of gravity and more mass to throw around, and now Berwald was face-down on the floor, his hands tied behind his back, two of his fingers broken. The blood on the back of his head was matting in his hair. (Ivan was vicious with his riding crop.)

Berwald turned his head and pain shot through his skull. He groaned. "Tino…"

Ivan stood over Tino, who was unconscious on the floor under his heavy boot. A small pool of blood had formed around the young Finn's face. Berwald prayed that it was only from his broken nose, and that he didn't have a fracture skull.

Ivan giggled softly to himself. "Silly little boys…" He crouched down, removing his foot from Tino's head, and rolled the young man onto his back. Tino whined weakly.

Berwald sighed. The boy was alive, then. Thank God. He creased his brow as another burst of pain shot through his head.

Ivan kissed Tino gently, letting the crop slide from his fingers. He stood, then, and strode to the doors. He left and locked the doors behind him.

Tino blinked awake. He squirmed and sat up. He clutched at the ground as his head spun sickeningly. He groaned, and put a hand to his nose. He swore. He needed to set his nose or it would heal wrong. He bit his lip and focused on breathing steadily through his mouth as the room grew still around him. He looked around and gasped, "Ber!" He crawled to Berwald's side. "Ber, wake up!" He shook the Swede frantically.

Berwald's breath hitched as he regained consciousness, and he groaned. He opened his eyes blearily. It was dark, but he could see Tino's bloodied, worried face just centimeters away. He tried to reach out to him, and was painfully reminded that his hands were tied up. "Tino…" He tried to smile. He succeeded only in grimacing.

"Ber!" Tino straightened. "Hang on, I'll untie you!" His hand went to work quickly and skillfully, and he had Berwald free in a matter of seconds.

Berwald rolled onto his back with a pained moan. "Fuck…" He scowled, and reached up with his good hand to rub his temple. The other hand he let lie, afraid of the pain he would receive should he move his fingers wrong. "You okay?"

Tino frowned. "Mostly. Can you stand? We need to fix you up a little bit…" He pulled Berwald into a sitting position.

"Think so…" Berwald closed his eyes for a moment, and tried to stand up. He regretted it immediately—the entire room whirled about him and his legs gave way. Tino managed to keep him from doing a face plant, and held him up in a sitting position.

"Perhaps we should crawl to the bathroom…" Tino tried to sound cheerful. It didn't really work.

Berwald grunted in agreement.

Tino sat on the toilet, and Berwald knelt on the floor in front of him, facing away as the small Finn cleaned up the back of his head. He'd already set up temporary splints for his left pinky and ring fingers—they'd be good enough until Berwald could see a doctor.

Berwald hissed. The water stung on his cuts, but at least they were shallow. Of course, he lost his optimism when Tino daubed some alcohol onto them. He curled his toes up in his boots, glaring at the tiling. It sting awfully.

Tino smiled, trying not to laugh at the unexpectedly child-like side of Berwald's personality, and put a cool hand on the man's cheek. Berwald looked over his shoulder, tilting his head back to meet Tino's eyes. He was scowling, but his eyes were smiling a little. Then he frowned further.

"Yer nose'll heal wrong…" He shifted, pulling Tino's face close to his as he turned around. He placed his palms softly on Tino's cheeks, then, without further warning, grabbed his nose and pulled.

Tino yelped, hands flying to his face as tears sprang to his eyes. He slid to the floor. "J- jerk…" He sniffled, leaning into Berwald with blood still dripping slowly down his lip. "That hurt." He swallowed thickly, wiping his eyes on the back of his hand.

Berwald rubbed his back apologetically. "It'll be fine. Jes be careful not to hit it on anything."

"That's not the point…" Tino settled into Berwald's arms with an irritated sigh.

Berwald smirked.

Tino was mostly cleaned up—his face wasn't covered in nose blood, at least. He lay asleep on the bed, and Berwald sat on a windowsill trying to think of ways to escape a second floor bedroom with blackberry and rose bushes growing wildly beneath the windows. He sighed heavily, glancing at his splinted fingers.

Then he remembered his tool box. He may not have had a key, but he had the feeling that a drill or a wood saw would be just as well. He checked his box. He had neither drill nor saw, but he did have a screwdriver. He pocketed it, and lay in the bed beside Tino as night fell. Now to wait for his chance.

The minute Ivan left the house (going to the market all day with Toris) Berwald was on his knees, twisting a screw out from the lowest door hinge.

Within the hour the double doors were leaning out of their frame precariously, held up by only two hinges on the left-hand side. He made quick work as Tino watched him nervously, and the doors finally fell to the floor with a loud bang.

Tino hefted his bag to his shoulder—holding a few changes of clothing (for both of them; he'd taken some of Ivan's) and about five hundred dollars worth of jewelry which he'd stolen from Ivan's safe after picking the lock.

They were downstairs in a flash. Before they headed for the door, Tino pulled Berwald into the kitchen, and they filled the bag the rest of the way full with a few bottles of water and a box of granola bars.

Then they heard the front doors boom open, and heard Ivan chatting with Toris.

"Shit!" He'd gotten home early… Tino ran to the side door, which led from the kitchen to the rose garden—it was locked and the key was nowhere in sight. He bit his lip as Ivan's giggling grew nearer.

Berwald took a breath, noting the onset of panic in Tino's eyes, and hurled himself at the door. The rusted hinges snapped under his weight and the door came flying onto the pathway. He grabbed Tino's wrist and pulled him into the bushes.

The voices ceased. Then, Toris said, "Oh my!" and Ivan said, "Hm…" Then Ivan bellowed, "RAIVIS! ARE THE GUESTS STILL IN THEIR ROOM?"

Tino stiffened, nestling himself closer to Berwald, heart beating fast. Berwald tightened his arms around Tino's bony frame wordlessly, pressing his lips to the top of his head as they heard slamming and shouting from inside the house.

Ivan was out the door immediately, scarf and coat billowing as he snapped his eyes furiously back and forth. "Oh Tinooooo…" his voice was deceptively sweet. His face deceptively kind…. But for the burning rage in his eyes.

Tino turned his head, burying his face in Berwald's neck fearfully. Berwald could feel him trembling violently, and squeezed his shoulder to reassure him.

For two hours they sat in the rose bush, surrounded by layered flowers of black purple, and the thick scent wafting from the petals. Eventually, as the sun was starting to descend from its high point in the sky, Ivan gave up and went inside.

Berwald slumped over Tino, who opened his eyes shakily. "Let's go." He kissed Tino's forehead and they began to crawl through the flowers and bushes, toward the line of trees that separated the Braginski estate from the road. Once in the forested strip, they dared to stand, and once they hit the road—steady and smooth—they ran.

The sun was setting, dying the clouds violet and scarlet and gold, when a building loomed into view. And another. And yet another. It was a small town—downtown. Tino straightened his clothes up, and took the sack of jewelry into a nearby pawnshop, and Berwald stood outside, waiting anxiously. But finally, they had four hundred dollars in cash. (It was a rather shady pawnshop…) They began to look for a hotel.

A seedy looking motel glowed out at them from the descending darkness, as what few streetlamps there were flickered on. They booked a room as quickly as possible—who knew what kinds of suspicious people frequented the area at night—and for only eighty dollars, had a single-bed room.

The bed was rickety, the lamp was going out, and the faucet in the bathroom dripped incessantly. But it was better than being mugged, or worse. It was better than being locked in Ivan's chambers.

Tino slipped out of his dusty clothes, into a simple t-shirt and shorts. He fished a dressing gown from the bag and handed it to Berwald, who peeled off his jeans and blood-encrusted shirt, and tied the robe loosely about his waist. It was a tad loose, but the length was near perfect. He switched the lamp off and sank into the bed beside Tino. Tino wrapped his soft, skinny arms around Berwald's midriff quietly, feeling vulnerable. Berwald returned the gesture and they fell asleep wrapped in each other's arms.

Tino woke up in a tangle of blankets and limbs, face pressed into Berwald's chest—the pain from his broken nose, smashed against Berwald's collarbone, was, in fact, what had woken him. It was six in the morning. He tenderly prodded his nose, wincing, then got up to use the bathroom. It was relatively clean, so he decided to take a short shower, to wash off the grime and the rest of the blood. After, he felt much cleaner and a little more relaxed. He dried his hair as best he could and slipped back into Berwald's arms, this time back to front to protect his poor nose.

Unconsciously, Berwald's arms (strong and firm) tightened comfortingly around Tino's slim waist. Tino sighed softly. He felt much safer than he ever had. He straightened the blankets over them, and snuggled against Berwald with a small smile. Berwald was not soft and squishy like Ivan, but he was a great deal less threatening.

Berwald blinked awake around ten in the morning, sore from running so much the day before. He felt Tino shift in his arms, and blushed. Their bodies were pressed together, warm and comfortable. He gave Tino an affectionate squeeze, and rolled out of the bed to clean himself up a bit.

They were out of the motel by eleven, and on a bus by noon now that they had money.

The bus was old and loud and foul-smelling, but it was transportation, and Tino slept for the entirety of the two-hour ride, leaning on Berwald's shoulder.

Tino yawned as they stepped off the bus. The sun was bright, but there was a nice breeze. He smiled. "It's been so long…" He closed his eyes with a peaceful sigh. Then he turned to Berwald.

"Ber, I have family here. So I'll stop imposing on you now." He took Berwald's hand and gave it a good-natured squeeze. "Go home, to your son. He's probably scared without you…"

Berwald frowned, and ruffled Tino's hair. "Seeya later…."

"Yeah. See you." Tino smiled.

Berwald kissed his forehead and turned away with a grimace, heading toward his home. Tino wiped his eyes (they were tearing up for some reason) and croaked, "Thank you so much," before walking down the sidewalk with a new lightness in his heart.

Berwald smiled to himself. "No problem…" he whispered. Of course, Tino couldn't hear him.

Lilacs were blooming everywhere, and he plucked a cluster from its branch to take home to Peter.

/end


End file.
